


Sorrow

by elleurs



Category: Tess of the d'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
Genre: Angst, Gen, Tragedy, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24052015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleurs/pseuds/elleurs
Summary: It was a sort of love that burned him from inside out.
Kudos: 5





	Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on April 22, 2012. Last revised date: May 7, 2020.
> 
> (Slightly AU. You could say this little scene happened just after Alec meets Tess for the second time, or just after Alec follows Tess back to Marlott.)

It was a sort of love that burned him from inside out, leaving him numb.

He didn’t ever know he was capable of _feeling_ to this extent – he had always thought it was impossible, for someone like him. Taking a deep breath, he unclenched his fists before the severity of the situation hit him and he struggled to keep upright.

A heavy blow to a heavy heart.

It left a dull ache in his chest that persisted, would continue to persist until his death, he now knew. There was nothing he could do but close his eyes.

“ _I am so sorry_ ,” he said slowly, painfully. He could not recognise his own voice. It was deep, warped, anguished – filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. His eyes darted to and fro beneath his lids, as if looking for something in the dark recesses of his mind – words, perhaps, he could never have said before.

“I’m sorry that you were – that you were not – under better circumstances.”

It was an effort to keep his composure, but he pressed on. “I’m sorry for – for not being – there, with you.”

He finally opened his eyes, finally dared to glance down at the small, makeshift tomb on the corner of the churchyard.

Wilted flowers littered the small area. He couldn’t find it in himself to bring some, for the very idea of getting flowers seemed to make everything much more real.

“She named you sorrow.” The churchyard stayed silent. “I wonder…” He passed a hand over his face, which had aged considerably upon entering the churchyard – no, upon first hearing the news. The groan, which came from the bottom of his soul, was heard by perhaps, only one other person.

The parson of the parish watched from afar as the solitary man knelt close to the ground, weeping for the son he never knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Spies in a cemetery.


End file.
